


Power

by amycooper



Series: Power [1]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 20:45:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amycooper/pseuds/amycooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Off duty, Janet smells like jasmine vanilla...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Power

Off duty, Janet smells like jasmine vanilla, sensual and calming. If I try, I can smell that scent right now, outside the hotel door. She’s left the door open for me, so I go in. I hang the Do Not Disturb sign behind me.

I only see one leg of cream-colored golden skin, like milk mixed with honey. I loosen my collar and take off my hat. Walking forward, I can see the whole of her. Her dress is both classy and alluring. With her hair loose and flowing in soft curves, with her sharp eyes and eager smile, with her long legs on her short slim body, it’s a given that she’s beautiful. Sometimes it still surprises me that she agrees to this. That she still looks forward to these secret nights with me. She must be as lonely as I am. Janet gets off the bed and runs a hand through my short hair before helping me unbutton my shirt. Her body presses against me through the silk white dress. Once my shirt off, I slide a strap off her shoulder as she begins to free me from my pants.

I don’t know why we don’t tell anyone. It’s not against the regulations. Maybe it’s just less complicated like this, alone, unknown, in our hotel together. Two lonely people released from our solitude. She smells of jasmine vanilla, looks like milk honey and tastes of salt. She’s got my pants off and we laugh when we realize I need to get my shoes off first. I waddle to the bed, sit down and take them off.

“Cassie’s at a friend’s house overnight,” Janet says. She’s got makeup on, more than she wears at work. Honestly, I think it’s too much around the eyes. I think its sweet, though, this small flaw on such a strong woman. I kiss her neck, slowly; I want to feel her rising pulse beat life underneath my lips. I want my head close to her when she first moans. I push down the other strap and the dress falls. We both go from sitting to lying in one practiced, fluid motion. She shimmies out of the dress. We’ve been making love like this for four years. Everyone thinks we barely know each other. I see her in the corridors of the SGC and I call her Dr. Fraiser, as if I don’t know how she rolls on top and clutches my waist with her thighs when she climaxes.

I kiss her shoulders. She’s nibbling my jaw, gently teasing the skin with her tongue before moving up and tickling my ear with her breath. It makes me squirm, but that’s what she wants. She wants that control, the power to make my body move for her pleasure. Its what I want, that burden of power relieved. She moves her hands down, down, just above, teasingly close but not there. I groan, with pleasure or frustration, I’m not sure. I try to move her hands down, but her breath scowls against my chest. So I slowly circle my hands around her breasts while she makes me move, rock, against her, above her. I bite, gently, at the skin I was just touching. My hands clasp her back, moving her body in rhythm with her. We roll over and she climbs up so she’s no longer kissing my chest, but my lips. She shifts me into her, finally, we move, finally, her legs clutch my waist…finally. She’s got the look in her eye that comes with lovemaking, benevolent tyranny, absolute power. I can only let go when she does; she knows that, only with her satisfaction. Her soft slight curls are damp now, wild. She’s picking up the pace. I follow her lead. She groans my name; yes, yes, yes.

When she comes, I hesitate, for a second. My movements are frantic compared to her controlled, eager, but rapid-precision. She doesn’t even release control now. I do. I’m tired of the politics and responsibility that comes with keeping the SGC afloat. Janet’s tired of losing good men and women to death.

She’s done, but keeps me inside for a moment longer, a play of power. She won’t leave until she’s damn good and ready. She can still go for one more even if I can’t and she makes a display of it. Then she’s done, collapsing against me.

For all her proud control, she trembles when she’s spent. When her heavy panting calms some, she gets out of bed for a glass of water. Her footsteps are hesitant, as she can’t control her body’s tremors.

I can’t help it; I smirk. I smirk, maybe because I’m a prick; maybe somewhere, deep inside, I like what power I do have. Maybe part of me relishes it. I scan Janet’s naked body as it retreats into the bathroom. I hear her turn on the faucet. She’ll drink, shower and expect me gone when she’s done. I’ll pay for the room this time. I’ll use cash. As the shower starts, I pull my pants up. I dress; I take a deep breath and prepare myself to become Major Paul Davis once again.


End file.
